To My Daughter’s Birth Mother

Amanda Foust Adoption

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To my daughter's birth mother,

I think of you often. You are the woman who gave my daughter life; my first child who called me “mommy.”

I know what a mother's heart feels, and I was overcome with gratitude and joy to take on that role. Yet, this gratitude parallels with grief. Right now she is young and innocent. She is secure in the life she knows and unfamiliar with her past. But her past is an important part of her story. I know there will come a day when questions arise and an aching will emerge. These feelings will be influenced by someone my daughter hasn't yet discovered and a loss not yet understood. The awareness of you may even dim the light in her eyes; eyes that may have matched yours.

Every giggle and new discovery my daughter and I share has my heart bursting with gratitude. But during each new milestone cherished, a tiny part of me hurts wishing you had a glimpse into her world. I know you would have loved to embrace her after her first steps or give her advice before her first day of school. You would have laughed at her crazy hair in the mornings, and your fingers would have naturally tamed her curls.  

I grieve for the unfulfilled memories your heart had conceived as you shared your body and carried this baby. I am saddened when I think about those kicks you felt within, her features you imagined as she grew, and the separation you may or may not have anticipated so quickly after she came into this world. You held her in those first moments she breathed in life. Her survival depended on you and the nurturing you lovingly gave her as long as you could.

It's hard to picture your lives together and the trials our daughter faced when she first lost you. I hope she has your strength like she may have your smile.There are days when she rubs my arm while she is tangled up with me in bed; her long limbs often poking my ribs as she tries to get comfortable. She points out that she is “brown” and “mama is white,” and she asks if she can play with my hair. I tell her the story of how she was born to her African mother as she looks at me with a tilted head and confused expression. She tells me she lived in my belly, and sometimes I forget she didn’t.

But what I won’t forget is the love of a mother. The love that you gave for as long as time allowed. I promise to walk next to our daughter and honor you as the mother who gave her life while I am the mother to share her life. You might not share in her present journey, but you share a part of her being. And, together, we both share in the beautiful story of her past.

With love,

A grateful mother


About the Author

Amanda Foust

Amanda is a small-town girl married to a third-culture-kid who shares her love for adventure and frivolous dreaming. She is a mom to two curiously independent little ones. Pen and paper make her spirit come alive. She spends her creative time as a life coach and a writer. Her world is better with an assortment of chocolate and a stack of books packed and ready for travel. Read more at .

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